Master of Fact: Laws in Motion
by Mr.Vaz
Summary: A quiet soldier forced into the limelight, a detective with one last case, a researcher in over her head, a warrior who's given up on his people, a woman who's left home for the first time, and a marine looking to transcend her namesake face the galaxy's greatest threats, both outside and within. OC insert.
1. The First Law

Act 1: The First Law

* * *

Booting C-Sec Universal Translation Software v253817-385-276

Software loaded

Enter desired phrase:

_Lex I: Corpus omne perseverare in statu suo quiescendi vel movendi uniformiter in directum, nisi quatenus a viribus impressis cogitur statum illum mutare._

Language identified: Human Latin

Select output:

_Human English_

Translating . . .

Translation complete

"Law I: Every body persists in its state of being at rest or of moving uniformly straight forward, except insofar as it is compelled to change its state by force impressed."

Error detected: Dictionary out of date

Error detected: Dialect filters out of date

Downloading updates . . .

Installing . . .

Select output:

_Human English, 21st-Century Americanized_

Translating . . .

Translation complete

"Law I: All bodies will continue their current linear course of motion unimpeded, unless acted upon by an outside force."

Extranet match found: Newton's first law [Follow link?]

Phrase copied

Closing C-Sec UTS

. . .

Booting Mentoolbox Theoretical Composition Assistant 2183 . . .

Software loaded

Phrase pasted

Smart editing tool selected

Enter replacement phrase:

_Law I: So long as one doesn't strive to change anything, events will continue to progress in the same manner as they would have were they not there._

Checking . . .

Compatibility match confirmed. Replacement accepted.

Saving . . .

Running smart edit features . . .

Fatal error detected

Analyzing . . .

Analysis complete

The above statement is false.

[View proof?]

Loading . . .

Displaying media

**Transcript of CNN broadcast 345-386748-9358  
Earth UTC: 23:47 (02:50 Citadel Standard), 12 April 2170**

This is Matriarch Areena with Citadel News Network.

Our top story tonight: the Human Systems Alliance is reeling from a surprise attack on one of their colonies.

Mindoir, a farming colony with a population just over a hundred thousand, went silent yesterday. An Alliance patrol arrived on-scene just hours after, and found the colony in ruins. No-one has stepped forward to claim responsibility for the attack.

While some images have been declassified by the Alliance, they have been deemed too graphic to air. Casualty numbers have yet to be released, but early figures suggest that less than five percent of the population has been accounted for.

Of note is that the SSV Einstein, an Alliance carrier, was reported to be in-system at the time of the attack. The Alliance has yet to comment on the status-

[indistinct chatter]

Wait, what?

[indistinct]

That's . . . Goddess . . .

[indistinct]

This just in: remains of the SSV Einstein have been discovered in orbit near Mindoir, with evidence of damage from dreadnought-grade weapons fire. The ship had been in low orbit at the time, and had been preparing to depart for the next system on its patrol route. No escape pods were jettisoned.

Of those still aboard at the time of the attack, the Alliance has confirmed that all hands were lost.

* * *

**Author notes:**

**In canon, the SSV Einstein was first to the scene of the Mindoir raid. While it arrived too late to stop the attackers from fleeing, experts agree that the devastation would have been much worse had it not arrived when it did. The ship and her crew were instrumental in the initial recovery effort, providing supplies and first aid until relieved by other vessels.**

**This replaces the old version of _Master of Fact_, an original character-insert story by some dork from Vegas who thinks too much. **

**There will be good times. There will be bad times.  
There will be love. There will be loss.  
There will be badassery. There will be humiliating pain.  
There will be new guys. There will be old favorites.  
****But do not stake your faith in the canon alone, or you may end up tied to it with a pirate named Bill when it gets thrown to the bottom of the-**

**Oh, right. Different fandom. [Ahem.]**

**Enjoy!**


	2. A Musing, Part 1

A Musing, Part 1: Doing the Impossible

* * *

"Reservation for two. Should be under 'Vic'."

The asari acknowledged the human with a smile and a nod. Her sky-blue skin glowed against her black dress as she grabbed a pair of menus. The restaurant was quiet, bathed in a dim amber light as they strolled by a number of booths. A majority sat vacant, as if disappointed at the lack of patrons. Then again, the night was still young.

Not that the human noticed or cared, a pensive look on his face as he followed the hostess to a seat.

_"Atlas," they called it. The mission that would shoulder the weight of humanity and bear it into the stars, using a newfound substance that allowed us to defy everything we thought we'd known about physics and the universe around us. It was huge, like taking gasoline "waste" and using it to power car engines huge. Hell, back when we discovered it, the techs were like toddlers who just got squirt guns after seeing their first action movie. Seeing all that potential and thinking you have all the tools you need . . .._

_That single "glitch" suddenly gave the space programs of the world new hope. Einstein was wrong. If we could harness the power of this substance, it would actually allow for objects, for people, to travel to other planets. Without worrying about time-dilation, even. Space would literally become our final frontier. We were going to ensure the indefinite survival of our species -no, our planet- by doing what relativity had said was impossible: breaking past the speed of light._

_Of course, they didn't tell that to the public. They were spoon-fed some lie about a manned trip to Mars, with a nice layover to study some rocks and maybe start on terraforming the pl-_

He snickered as the asari held out an arm. He hadn't even noticed that she'd drawn the chair for him. Discreetly turning it into a cough, he sat down. Comfortable enough to ease the tension from any turian soldier's spine, yet strong enough to stand up under the weight of the rare krogan after a job best left unasked-about, the seat coaxed him into a relaxed state. He was unable to hide the lingering grin as the asari told him about the drink list.

_I still can't think about that without laughing._

_But honestly, most of the others weren't even told until the day before of just what the mission really was: The first manned flight to the edge of the solar system, the first active test of human FTL technologies, and the first attempt to establish a permanent human settlement of sorts on Pluto._

_Poor thing just never catches a break, does it? Used to be considered the last planet, till it got relabeled as a dwarf in 2005. Picked as a site for the first human extraterrestrial colony only to have it spoiled by a failed mission. Used to have a moon, but now it's a mass relay . . .. But I digress. Pluto isn't the important thing here. It was the FTL trip._

_"How would it work?" some might ask._

_In all honesty, I didn't quite understand all of it. None of us did, really, and I only learned the full details myself later. Much later. Even now, I still don't really get why relativity says time's supposed to slow down when you approach the speed of light, let alone why the mass effect can counteract it- that was Tali's department, not mine. I always worked better with things I could see, feel, and measure directly. But if I had been one of the scant few who had been told just what the codename for the stuff was, how it actually worked . . .._

The asari cleared her throat, clearly expecting a response for an ignored question.

"Just a water for now, thanks. I want to wait for my other guest."

She bowed to him, assurances about the timeliness of his order going unheard. His expression slipped into a frown as she walked away, an unseen shake of the head as he slipped back into his own thoughts.

_Damn, Shepard would be kicking my ass for thinking about the what-ifs. I think his exact words on the topic were something like, "biggest two-letter waste of air ever imagined by man." Looking back now, I understand where the bastard was coming from, even if it made things difficult as hell between us. Still, he's gone, and I can't help but wonder with the time I have now . . .._

_What if the Curiosity hadn't found that sample?_

_What if I had known that it was element zero they'd found on Mars?_

_What if I knew that the events of some game I'd played when I was younger could and would actually come to pass?_

_What if I was aware that I'd end up in the middle of it?_

_What if things hadn't turned out worse off because of me being here?_

_What if Shepard and Garrus didn't hate my guts?_

_What if . . . I had just kept my mouth shut five years ago?_

He sighed, his finger drumming at the edge of his menu.

_Well more of us would still be around for starters . . .. And I wouldn't be here, waiting to talk to Him._

He thumbed the pamphlet open, his eyes glancing over the myriad alien dishes but not really processing any of the words.

_But I can't do anything about that now._


	3. Vic 1

Vic 1

* * *

**Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center, Houston, TX, USA, Earth  
06:01 hours (00:01 local), 22 December 2012  
170 years, 4 months before joint Spectre-STG Operation VIRM-245-NA**

"_It's the end of the world as we know it_-"

"Vic, I'm going to punch you if you keep singing that song."

"Keep it down, Stu!" the first voice hissed as a head popped up over a computer screen. Dark brown eyes swept around the area, scanning the other people at their own terminals around the mission control room. In the light of a dozen televisions and even more computer screens -most of which showed a zoomed-in image of a red planet- he could tell that the vast majority of the people were too engrossed in their own work to notice. When none of them perked their own heads, the young man sat back down, giving his friend a pointed glare through his set of spectacles. "We just got this internship. I'd rather not have everyone calling me that already."

Stuart rolled his blue eyes, casually leaning back in his own chair. "Vic, you're the only guy I know who can be threatened with physical violence and still care more about your name."

His friend took off his eyeglasses, taking a moment to rub his eyes. "I just don't want a repeat of freshman year, that's all."

"I can't remember. Was that the year with the nametag or the one where I handed out flyers with your picture and number to every girl I could find?"

The proper response was a punch to the shoulder.

"Hey, I was trying to help you get laid! Isn't that what wingmen are for?"

"It was a cafeteria, not a nightcl-"

"Enough roughhousing!" A stern-looking woman had caught the exchange, and was glaring daggers at the pair of them. "This is a NASA facility, not a playground. I don't care what your entrance qualifications were, we can always find new interns. Are we clear, Stuart? Vic?"

"Crystal," Stuart replied.

"Dammit."

"What was that?" the senior worker asked, her ire settling on the bespectacled twenty-year-old.

"I said yes, ma'am." Vic made eye contact with the woman, the playful shadow of his dark facial hair framing a false smile. His eyes stole a glance at the nametag strung from a lanyard about the woman's neck. "Won't happen again, Doctor Venkat."

She walked away without another word, and a grin split Stu's face. As he began to chuckle, his friend's mustached lip accented his own descent into a frown. "Shut up, Stu."

This, of course, only elicited another giggle as the two turned back to their displays. "Whatever you say, Vic."

Not two seconds later, however, Stuart's computer chimed loudly. In another two, the woman was back.

"What the hell did you two do now?!"

Stu spoke as his friend raised his full black eyebrows in surprise and the room erupted into a nervous buzz. "It was my computer, not his. I just set it to ding when we get something from the Mars rover." The clean-shaven intern leaned closer to the screen as a spreadsheet opened up on his display. "And judging from this, it looks like the soil samples are done."

"Impossible," she responded, disbelief evident. "It's not due for another fourteen minutes. Messages from the Curiosity can't come back that fast. Mars is-"

"Over 150 million miles away and messages can't go faster than 670 million miles an hour because nothing can travel faster than light, meaning anything sent to or from the rover takes fourteen minutes to get here," Vic finished for her, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "We already went through orientation, Doctor Venkat. Besides, it probably just finished the test early."

"Sure seems that way," Stuart agreed. "It looks like everything's here. No errors or early stops."

Venkat frowned. "We plan everything down to the second with the rovers. Nothing should ever arrive early."

Vic shrugged. "Maybe we should just check the timestamps? When it sent and received the messages?"

Before the senior scientist could reply, Stuart had already scrolled back up to the top of the document. "Let's see . . .. Last message sent from mission control at 9:47 pm. The rover received the order and started testing at 10:01 pm."

"Sounds about right to me," his fellow intern replied.

"What about the other one?" Venkat asked. "The message the rover sent?"

"The test was completed at . . . That's not right."

"What's up, Stu?" He turned his head slightly, the better to catch a glimpse of his friend's screen without seeing glare from the lights overhead. "Message received by mission control at 12:02 was sent by the rover at . . .," He frowned. "12:02?"

"Great," Venkat muttered. "A multibillion dollar project down the drain because a pair of interns messed up its clock."

"Whoa!" the two said in unison as some of the others in the room began to look their way.

"It isn't our fault," Stu replied. "Our shift started at eleven, after the message was sent."

"Besides," his counterpart added, "There's no way any of what we did could have screwed up the rover's mission clock. You know how many backups it has."

"And you'd be willing to wager your jobs on that?" the woman asked.

"How?" Stu asked.

"Easy," the bearded intern responded. "Ping and response. Just send a message to the rover telling it to reply back."

"Logic says it should take fourteen minutes each way, plus tell it to wait two minutes to reply," Venkat thought aloud, nodding her head. "Exactly half an hour, and we can verify that the timer is still working properly. Get it done."

With no small amount of hurrying, with some grumbling by the coders in the room, the pair hurried to compile the order with the other interns and workers in the room. After double-, then triple-checking to make sure the rover would do exactly what they wanted, they sent the message to the Mars rover just as the clock read 12:15.

Then they waited.

And waited.

"So . . . " Stuart breathed. "It's 12:29."

"Yup," came his friend's clipped reply.

"Then the rover should be getting the message right about now."

"Yup."

They waited a little longer, over a minute passing before Stu spoke once more.

"Why the extra two minutes again?"

"To make sure the clock isn't glitching," Venkat answered. "If you screwed up, then the Curiosity's clock moved fast enough to think roughly 45 minutes was an hour. Which would mean I'd have to fire your asses and get some competent help around here."

"Basically, if we get a ping 30 seconds before 12:45, that means we're both can-"

Right then, Vic was cut off as the computer chimed again.

"What the hell?" Venkat breathed.

Vic checked the clock on his own computer as his friend responded. "12:31. It's much too soon for it to be anything on our end."

"Maybe the rover found something that let the message travel faster than light," the spectacled intern joked. "Magical unobtanium that manipulates mass, perhaps?" he suggested with a grin. "Maybe it was an interdimensional portal." _At least our jobs are safe. But I wonder . . .._

Venkat, however, was not amused.

"I need all non-senior staff to leave the room." When the two of them, along with most of the others in the room offered her a blank stare, she amended her order. "Right now."

Rather than wait for her to repeat herself, the pair joined in the group of people rapidly making for the exit. Vic couldn't help but notice several important-looking (and in some cases, tired and irritable) scientists moving into the room they'd just vacated.

"I'd hate to be her," Vic breathed as the door shut behind the last one.

"Yeah, having to explain how your Mars rover gained the ability to see into the future would probably ruin anyone's day."

"Wha- No!" Vic stammered. "The way I see it, something the rover found allowed it to send that response faster than light."

"Which should be impossible."

"Exactly!"

"So, what? We found some magical substance that lets signals travel instantly across space and time?"

"Maybe. It does sound similar to what happened in the Mass Effect-"

"Oh, come on!" Stu blurted, startling him. "You're bringing that video game into it? Next you're going to tell me they'll find promethean ruins on Mars too."

"Prothean," Vic corrected, shaking his head. "Prometheans are from Halo. I still have no idea how you ended up at NASA when you didn't like sci-fi."

Stuart offered a shrug in return. "Sorry, I didn't see that checkbox on the application."


	4. Vic 2

Vic 2

* * *

**[Classified location], USA, Earth  
10:28 hours (04:01 local), 14 April 2014**

_Son,  
We're so proud of you!  
Your father and I would have sent something last month when we heard, but we still have no idea where you're stationed. We'll hold on to it for when you come back though.  
Oh, and are you still in touch with Stuart? Your sister said he was still working there, but that he had to drop out of contact because of something classified. About as transparent as a brick wall, but I can't say I didn't see it coming.  
Don't shoot me, I'm just the messenger.  
We all miss you though, and hope your training's going well. Please tell me when you have a chance to come back for a visit. I miss hearing from you.  
-Mom  
p.s. Your father told me to write "Duuude."  
p.p.s. Get a haircut._

Vic smiled as he scooted his chair toward the computer screen, its dim light bathing his room with a soft glow. He clicked the reply button, bringing up a blank slate to write his own email response. His eyes found themselves drawn to a picture taped to the top of the computer screen. A tanned teenage boy sat on an armchair, his curly and overgrown hair threatening to erupt into a full-blown afro. In the boy's lap sat a girl, her own hair tied back into a ponytail that she was failing at keeping out of his bespectacled face. She was trying to grip the neck of an electric guitar that sat across her knee, her fingers almost comically small in comparison to the fretboard. The boy was pointing at the instrument, trying to correct her fingering as the girl made a gap-toothed grin.

_Amy sure has grown. Has it really been that long?_

He chuckled, turning his attention back to the screen as he typed.

"_Mom,  
She's too damn good for him. Besides, I already see more than enough of the bastard at work. Family dinners would be too much, even for me._"

A snort accompanied the punctuation. _I still can't believe he got the damn pilots calling me "Vic" already._ He shrugged, returning to his email.

"_I wish I could tell you more about what I'm doing, but they're screening everything that goes in and out of my computer. Apparently, the NDA doesn't even let me get Netflix. Shame really, but at least I still have the Xbox._"

The man paused, stroking his beard as he thought about all the training he'd been going through: cardio, zero-g maneuvers, how to put on and remove a fully-sealed spacesuit (which merited its own lengthy course), warnings about what foods could and couldn't be eaten outside of the Earth's gravity well...

And he couldn't say a single word about any of it. He and Stuart had been lucky to be the first to notice the anomaly over a year ago, but at times like this he had to wonder if discovering the potential for FTL travel had been worth it.

Then again, NASA was keeping him in the dark on some of the details just as much as he was keeping his family out of the loop.

"_They're keeping me in shape with the work though. I can say that much at least. They give everyone a week off around New Year's, but I'll give you a holler if I can catch a break before then. I miss you guys too.  
Oh, and tell that goofy goober to keep her hands off my Ibanez. I know she's been itching to mess with it again. ;)_"

The man laughed, a genuine sound that he hadn't heard enough of lately (aside from Stu laughing when everyone else called him by that damned nickname). He took a deep breath, the grin lingering as he finished the message.

"_Tell Dad I said 'Sweeeet!' Hopefully I'll get the chance to tell him that in person before"-_

A dialogue box popped over the screen with a loud ding, obscuring his message: **Your session has been suspended until relaxation hours. Report for daily exercises.**

Vic sighed as he powered down the monitor. He checked the time on his desk clock: 4:33 am. _Three minutes late. Wonder how late you have to be before they send someone to your quarters._ Not willing to find out, he quickly threw on a training jumpsuit and grabbed a bottle of water. Vic crossed to the door, opening it and stepping out as he pulled his keys out of his pocket. As he fit the key in the doorknob, he spared a last glance at the computer monitor, now just another empty rectangle in the predawn darkness of the room._  
_

_I love you guys._

He shut the door.

* * *

**Author note:**

**This one was short, but planning on doing updates every weekday. For those who followed the original version: next one will be all-new material, and the rest of the "revised" chapters will be posted by the end of the week. **


	5. Sterling 1

Sterling 1

* * *

**Communications room, ****_SSV Agincourt_****, Novi System  
15:21 hours, 11 April 2176  
7 years, 11 days before joint Spectre-STG Operation VIRM-245-NA**

_"My name is Elanos Haliat._

_"As you now know, my fleet has crippled Elysium's orbital defenses. As I speak, my forces are landing in your planet's capital, Illyria. I speak to you now so that all may hear my one and only demand._

_"You will do nothing._

_"Do not fight. Do not argue. Do not weep. Do not resist._

_"Your species' crimes across the traverse have damned you all, but I am only here for a small portion of you. If you obey, the rest shall be left alone. If not . . ._

_"Elysium shall become the next Mindoir."_

In the Agincourt's conference room, Second Lieutenant Sterling Shepard froze. His eyes, so dark one would be hard-pressed to find where iris ended and pupil began, widened as the recording finished playing.

On the other side of the room, Operations Chief Lasky stood up. "That message has been looping for the past ten minutes on every comm and radio line from Elysium. It's playing across all the emergency bands as well, Captain."

The man next to him nodded, his eyes cast downward. His arms, unusually long for a man so short, laid in his lap, seemingly relaxed. The death-grip his fingers had on his knees, however, said otherwise. "What do we know about Haliat?"

Lasky waved his arm. Orange light wreathed his wrist, then expanded into a rectangular, holographic screen in the middle of the room. He flicked a finger over his arm, and a virtual keyboard appeared on his sleeve. With a few keystrokes on his omni-tool, the hologram showed an alien's head. Its profile was similar to that of a wraith-thin human, though its ribcage arched upward around the back of its neck like a hood. Its gaunt face had a crest reminiscent of Earth's cockatiels sweeping backward from the forehead and temples in lieu of hair. A pair of flaps hung loosely from its cheeks, making Sterling think of the many insects he'd come across while training in Rio de Janiero. Most striking, however, was its skin: a tough-looking hide that appeared to be carved out of stone. Turians were hard to miss in a room full of humans.

Lasky took a breath. "Born in '43 on a turian colony in the Viper nebula. Never joined the turian military, not something you see that often. He's barefaced, doesn't associate with any recognized turian clan, so it's safe to say he doesn't have the Heirarchy's best interests in mind. Ran with the Blue Suns in the early sixties. Left before they joined in on the slaving business, but he didn't keep his hands clean. Last sighting was with a known batarian extremist named Ka'hairal Balak during a series of slave raids in the Horse Head Nebula in '68. Dropped off the radar after that."

_Mindoir. He could have been there._

Captain Roe looked up. "And Balak?"

The image changed, the turian's bony head replaced with the many skin folds and ridges of a batarian head. The alien's slick green skin gave way to black and yellow stripes on his temples. The batarian's four inky-black eyes and multiple sets of flared nostrils betrayed only one emotion: contempt.

"If there is a most wanted list in Alliance space without his face, he'd probably be insulted. Hegemony censored his background and status, but the intel division at Arcturus thinks he could be a high level officer in the Batarian fleet, likely a rear admiral. Guy doesn't screw around. Only times he's ever left survivors after a raid were when we had backup already in-system. He's suspected for being behind several pirate raids on commercial ships all across the Traverse in the past ten years."

_And Balak had the means._

"What's your assessment?" Roe asked, interrupting Sterling's thoughts.

"Haliat's unpredictable," Lasky said, "and possibly unstable. Wouldn't put it past him to bluff his way out of conflict. Balak though-" He cast a glance at the hologram in their midst. "If he's there, then I wouldn't put anything past them."

_They could both be on Elysium, right now._

Roe sighed into a hand. "That's what I was afraid of."

Sterling stroked his chin. _If we stop them, I'll avenge her. I'll avenge all of them._

"Hold station and wait for backup. Send a message to Rear Admiral Warsaw of the _New Delhi_. We're going to need his whole battlegroup for this."

Sterling couldn't believe his ears. "With all due respect, sir," he stated, standing from his chair, "we should be making a full burn for Elysium right now. The system's got a primary mass relay; he'll be there in minutes."

"Need I remind you, Lieutenant, that we're not in some overdesigned salarian ship? We don't have stealth capabilities. They'll see us as soon as we enter the solar system, let alone arriving in orbit."

"We can take them, Sir." He stepped through the hologram. "My squad-"

"A single squad of special forces soldiers cannot drive back an invasion on their own."

"But if we can draw them out, get them to focus on just us-"

"With what?" Roe gestured toward the hologram. "We don't have that metalhead's VIP list. We don't even know how many of them are even IN Illyria for sure. What if they ignore you altogether?"

"Then we ambush them with guerilla tactics. All members of my squad have biotic capabilities. We could do some damage, possibly even drive them back to their ships."

"The ability to fling people around with your mind does NOT make you a god. You may be N6, but no one person is that good."

Sterling clenched his teeth. "This is bigger than one person, Sir. Those two need to be brought to justice."

Roe stood up, a fire in his eyes. Even though his head was at the same level as Sterling's clean-shaven chin, the lieutenant knew the captain had expected him to take a step back.

He didn't flinch, staring back at his CO for a solid five seconds.

When Roe spoke, however, his voice was almost whisper-soft. "I admire your tenacity, son. Hell, a part of me would love to help you take down the S.O.B. that killed your mother on Mindoir."

Sterling blinked. If Roe noticed, he masked it well.

"And I have no doubt that you'll make N7 one day. You will do something that would make her proud." Roe raised a hand and placed it on his shoulder. "But that day is not today."

"Sir-"

"I said NOT TODAY!" Roe waved his own omni-tool. The hologram in the room changed, Balak's image replaced with a city skyline. "There are four million people in and around that city. Four million that WILL die if Haliat's not bluffing. The _Agincourt_ can dodge a dreadnought for a few minutes, but that city cannot."

"Then drop us on their ship. We'll board it and-"

**"STAND DOWN, SOLDIER!"**

Sterling stood at attention, instincts drilled into him from boot camp forcing him to obey the captain's authoritative order.

"The way I see it, there are far too many unknowns. What if Haliat's telling the truth? What if you can't take control of that ship before it levels the capital city of Earth's third-largest colony? What if you can't pull enough of the attackers' attention to protect the rest of the city? What if we go in without backup and get blown to oblivion before you can even get your guys off this ship?" Roe shook his head and turned to face the hologram. "We don't have enough intel, which means our only logical choice is to wait for backup."

For a full ten seconds, they stood in silence: Sterling still at attention and Roe staring at the hologram while Lasky stood off to the side, clearly not wanting to get involved. At last, Roe nodded at Lasky, who saluted and briskly walked out the room. Sterling turned to follow him.

"I did not dismiss you, Lieutenant."

Sterling halted, turning to face his commanding officer once more.

Roe looked back at him, his hands folded behind his back. "Your orders are there for a reason. Whether it's from me or anyone else, your job is to follow them to the letter, Shepard. From now on, I better not hear about you disobeying orders, no matter whose ship you're on. I know people who'll court-marshal you no matter where your post is. Do you understand?"

Sterling swallowed, a bitter taste in his mouth. "I do, Sir!"

Roe raised an eyebrow. "You do what?"

Sterling frowned as he read between the lines. "I do exactly what I'm told, Sir!"

The captain nodded and pointed to the door. "And don't you forget it."


	6. Vic 3

Vic 3

* * *

**John F. Kennedy Space Center, Cape Canaveral, FL, USA, Earth  
12:56 hours (06:56 local), 19 February 2017  
166 years, 2 months, 3 days before joint Spectre-STG Operation VIRM-245-NA**

"So you're telling me your name isn't Victor?"

Vic shook his head, his mind elsewhere as he strode towards the elevator. The bare metal framework did nothing to impede his view of the sole thing that drew away his attention. "I still can't believe they brought a space shuttle back into service just because of us. Didn't they decommission those almost five years ago, Sanders?"

The man next to him chuckled softly, the thin lines in his face growing more pronounced as he shook his head. "Just call me Felix. And don't let appearances fool you. Atlas was made to look like the old space shuttles from the outside, but it's a completely different beast on the inside."

"I'd almost be insulted if it wasn't," a woman on Sanders' other side chirped, her short red hair tied back in a simple ponytail. "None of the other pilots had to jump through that many hoops just to man a flight. I was about ready to lodge a formal complaint until they told me the rest of the details."

"Relax, Dawn," a shorter man cooed, an unsightly plaid stocking cap covering most of his dark hair. "We made the qualifications in the end, didn't we?"

"Right..." she breathed as they reached the walkway's terminus. They all filed into an open-air elevator, which started to rise. "Though I still have no idea how you were so patient the whole time, Jim."

"The secret is this," the man responded, tapping his temple as the platform lifted them several stories into the air.

"Rockheadedness?" Stu quipped, prompting a snicker that Vic had more than a little trouble hiding.

"No, it's the hat. Bought it the day before the Saints won Super Bowl Forty-Four. Thing's been good luck for me ever since."

"That can't be good with the ladies," Vic noted, raising an eyebrow at the bright yellow and brown garment. Jim, however, softly tutted and raised a finger.

"Actually, wouldn't have met my wife if it wasn't for this thing. It even got her to make the first move. Instant lady-killer status, I'm telling you."

"Bullshit," Stuart coughed, drawing a few more chuckles from the group. "What was the first thing she said? 'You should take it off'?"

"Actually, she was wondering what sort of bet I lost. But that's not important. What is important is that it still worked!" The last thing Jim had said was drowned out by laughter as the platform slowed to a stop. The group began walking again, across a short bridge connecting the elevator tower to the Atlas. Vic was the last to reach the airlock, climbing in and sealing the outer hatch once the other four people had entered. After a few moments spent gazing at an ornate trio of flags decorating the room, Felix opened the inner door. As the others slowly vacated the airlock, Vic got his first look at the cockpit. He gave a low whistle after closing the portal, ducking his head as the others climbed the "floor" to their seats, using the sturdy chairs as a makeshift ladder before belting themselves in with their backs to the ground.

"_Cramped" would be an understatement._

He pulled himself into the last seat, one that was in the vehicle's third row of chairs. As he tightened his harness, he could hear Jim speaking into a headset from two rows ahead.

"Control, this is Atlas. Crew has boarded and we are beginning final pre-launch checklist."

As he grabbed his own headset, his neighbor passed him a nod, her own headset and belts long since secured. "Hi," she replied once he was situated. "You're Vincent, right?"

"Good guess, but not Vic's real name," Stu interrupted from his other side, prompting an eye roll.

"Stuart here insists on everybody calling me Vic. Don't ask."

"I see," she murmured. "I haven't had time to get to know the entire team yet."

"Oh, so you're Damien's backup?"

She nodded. "Shame he broke his leg last week. I was a quick study though. Apparently, the video game he had me playing between shifts was a training sim. Should have known something was up when the online leaderboard had only twelve people, but I didn't complain when I got the top score."

Stu's grin evaporated in a burst of shock. "How the hell did you beat my-"

"Stuart," Vic growled, silencing his friend. "Sorry, he talks too much for his own good. You're Doctor Sanders' second in engineering, then?"

"I keep telling you, Vic," the balding man responded from a row ahead. "Call me Felix."

"Right," she answered. "My name's Tabitha. I already met Bruno though." The woman nodded toward the burly man sitting next to Felix, who was delving into a cabinet situated next to his own seat. "He's our... chef?"

"Officially, yes," Bruno's voice rumbled from within the enclosure. "Not that there's anything worthwhile to cook with, to be honest. I'm really here as an emergency medic, maintenance, and backup engineer, not that I know that much about the last one."

"That's what Stu and I are for," Vic added. "In theory, you shouldn't need more than one of us once things get started, but the guys on the ground want to have all their bases covered." He pointed toward the front row of the cabin, where the last two occupants were skimming over a half-dozen displays and countless switches. "Dawn, on the left, is our pilot. Best NASA could get their hands on. Don't ever doubt that or she'll knock your teeth out. Jim, on the right, is our copilot and communications chief." The man spared a quick nod before speaking back into his headset.

"Houston, we have completed our initial pre-flight check and are standing by for liftoff."

"What's with his hat?" Tabitha asked, tipping her head in Jim's direction.

"Superstitious," Stu said with a roll of his eyes. "He's afraid something might go wrong if he takes it off."

The communications officer, busy talking into the radio, allowed his hand to deliver his succinct reply: a middle finger.

"Quit aggravating him, Stuart," Felix replied, double-checking his straps. "Let the man work."

Vic rolled his eyes as his old friend turned toward him. "Oh, Vic... How much do you think it would take to make him take the hat off? Five bucks? Maybe ten?"

"You don't want to do that, Stu..." he muttered, removing his glasses and putting them in his pocket. Vic blinked a couple of times and looked back to his neighbor, his vision going from the clarity of a high quality photograph to a paint-by-number blur as the eyes refocused.

"How about twenty?" Stu called out. "Just five seconds is all I need."

"Don't do it Stu." Vic looked back to the back of Jim's head, the funky neon colors and crossed lines of the copilot's hat blending into a muddy greenish-brown without his eyewear. "You won't like what happens."

"Final checks complete. Standing by for ignition." Jim lifted the cap off his head, and Vic saw a mess of darker brown hair underneath. _Can't be too sure without my glasses, but..._

"Dammit," Stu swore. Vic, however, grinned. _And there's my confirmation._

"Helmets on."

Vic put on his helmet, sealing it to his suit in less than five seconds. Tabitha leaned over to him after she'd secured her own. "What was that about?"

"All loose items secured and ready for ignition," Jimmy stated from the front.

"That, Tabby, was the sound of Stu losing seventy bucks. Told him Jimmy wasn't bald, but _no-_"

"Engage."

Vic stopped talking as the seat jumped up from behind him. The craft quaked like a thing possessed as a roar of noise washed over him. His body felt like it had become a lead weight, pressing uncomfortably into the chair. He could hear Jimmy and Dawn saying something from the front, but the words escaped him.

_Breathe. Remember the training._

With effort, Vic forced his lungs to expand, taking in some of the cockpit's precious air. It quickly left him a moment later, the titanic forces of the thrusters still active on his body. He focused his eyes on the back of Dawn's helmet, willing himself to keep them open.

_One . . . two . . . three . . .. Breathe._

He fought for another breath. His heart pounded against his ribcage, trying to pump blood that just didn't want to move.

_Again._

His thoughts felt muddy, as if he wasn't moving fast enough.

_Again._

Darkness was gathering at the corners of his vision, the pristine white of his companions fading to gray.

_Fight it! Breathe!_

"-sand feet. Preparing to fire booster rockets."

Vic shook himself awake as he heard Jimmy's voice. _Relax, it's barely three gees._ He took another breath, the air coming easier to him. The engine noise gradually quieted to a whisper. _You're going to be fine__._

"Activating second stage."

An almighty clang reverberated through the ship. Vic felt as if he was falling.

Tabitha yelped next to him. "Sweet baby Jesus!"

"That's just us dropping the boosters," Bruno replied. "We should be firing the main engines right about now."

As if in response, the seat pushed against Vic's back once more. The skies outside the cockpit became darker, going from robin's egg blue to an inky indigo over the next four minutes. His body started to feel lighter as time passed, his breathing easier than before.

"Cabin pressure confirmed," Jimmy said. "You can open your helmets if you want."

As he lifted his helmet's visor, Vic put his glasses back on. Outside the window, he could see an expanse of stars on the vast darkness of space. Below, a faint blue halo could just barely be seen, the only reminder of the planet they'd just left behind. A white light slowly bled its way around the halo, and he beheld his first sunrise from space.

"Friends," Felix said. "Welcome home."

* * *

**Author note:**

**Sorry for the late post. I lost track of time while writing the first squaddie's appearance, coming next week. **


	7. Vic 4

Vic 4

* * *

**_ISV Atlas_****, maiden voyage  
Fine location: [ERR_R: D#TA COR&UPTIXN5DETXCTED. _RITICAL FAI+UR/ OF STAR )ATABASE.]  
Mission clock: T+ 5.08E9 se%onds [XRROR: TIM_ SYXCHR8NIZATIO011011100010000001110011IGNAL LOST$aVERIFY?]**

Blackness. Light bent and twisted, ever fleeting, never staying. One moment, the floor was visible by a sudden flash of brilliance threatening to blind him. The next, an infinite expanse of inky darkness separated him from the rail nearby. The room materialized and faded around him at will, the scenery growing closer and farther as if reality itself was unsure of its own existence.

_The sudden luminosity of the drive core. A thousand bolts of electricity arc behind the insulated glass capsule, a perfect storm of feral power behind a zookeeper's cage. The cockiness in Stu's grin as he sat back in his seat defies it, and a calm settled over the engineers as they strapped themselves in front of their consoles. "We're all set here, Felix."_

_"Alright. Increase output of the first core to thirty percent. Start her off slow, then we'll make the first jump."_

**_Victim…_**

His head throbbed as icy chill settled over his gut. _How long was I unconscious? A minute? An hour? More?_ The silent body drifting through the air next to him held no answer. He tried not to focus on the reddish blobs hovering nearby. The sterility of space didn't exactly speed up decomposition.

_Tabitha was grinning ear to ear. "Position confirmed: we're point-one AU from Jupiter. Second test was a complete success. It seems the core works like a charm."_

_"Excellent." Felix turned slightly, the man's grace in the lack of gravity a far cry from what his wrinkled face would suggest he possessed. "Vic, prepare the secondary core. We need to start phase two."_

Emptiness. The void just beyond his fingertips stretched onwards, too deep to be real, too vivid to be fantasy. His skull throbbed as he fought back the disorienting vertigo, trusting more in his hands than his eyes.

**_Victi…_**

_"Sir? The second core isn't activating. Looks like the field from the first one is... suppressing it?"_

_"Perhaps..." The elder brushed a hand over his face, clearly deep in thought. He gave a quick nod. "Alright. Scale back the power on core one, Stu. Ten percent."_

His hand clasped shut, the frigid steel amplifying the cold pit inside him as it held its corporeal form. A tug. A second freezing touch. He shivered and looked around once more, both hands now on the safety rail.

_"Core two, power stable at ten percent." The dancing electricity crackled eagerly from behind the barrier, two faint blue orbs forming at opposite ends of the glass silo._

_"Acknowledged," Tabitha added. "How much juice do you want to give her, doc?"_

_"Take both cores up to thirty percent."_

_The orbs began to expand._

**_Vict…_**

He placed one hand in front of the other, slowly inching his way along as the light gave way to the ravenous darkness once more. A thousand twinkling shards glinted defiantly for half a moment, shield turned into a dangerous sword. Something large, muscular, and limp bumped into him. He forced it from his mind, pulling himself further along as his head continued to swim.

_Electricity lanced out as the fields made contact, the bubbles around the twin cores rapidly growing to encompass the ship. The consoles in the room blared angrily in response, the lights flickering as the cores began to leech the ship's power._

_"Shut them down!"_

_"I can't!"_

_For once, even Stu was afraid. "Energy levels climbing exponentially. The shield wasn't made to contain this much."_

_"Tabitha, cut the hard li-"_

He grunted. His skull felt as if it was pulsating, every fiery heartbeat threatening to crush his brain. _Door... Can't be far now..._ He shut his eyes in pain as an arc shot out of one of the cores, burning his vision with a bright blue line.

**_Vic!_**

_Felix's voice cut off as the orbs suddenly contracted. The field within the glass erupted with the fury of a vexed Zeus, lightning and thunder scattering over the room as an otherworldly bang silenced the room to his ears. The shield burst outward, countless brittle projectiles creating a deadly hail as he raised his hands over his face. Several of the shards ricocheted off of the reinforced hull, pinging through the engine room like pinballs as they stung at every exposed bit of his flesh. He yelled as pain erupted from his leg, barely aware of the tethers that coupled him to the railing being torn asunder._

He stopped to catch his breath, his head still pounding as the light stabilized once more into an electric twilight. Another form drifted past him, distorted slightly by a thin line that split the air in front of his right eye. He shut it, focusing on the view through his undamaged left lens, and gasped.

It wasn't his broken glasses that had made the man look odd, he was simply _broken_ in every possible way imaginable.

_Gravity made a surprise visit, his body suddenly plummeting straight into the thunderstorm. It vanished just as quickly, vertigo abating as his momentum dragged him toward the maelstrom. He reached out in vain, grasping for anything that could alter his suicidal course._

_Something slammed into him, hard. The tangle of limbs drifted away from the cores, and he saw a flash of blue in his rescuer's eyes. "Thanks, Stu." He couldn't even hear the words leave his mouth, the world around him still silent._

_Instead he heard a siren. A prerecorded voice blared at them, somehow still audible in his deafened state._

_"Warning: Breach de-"_

_The room lurched. He watched as the room sped by around the two of them. He turned around, noticing that Stu was between him and the rapidly-approaching wall._

_Everything went black._

He yelped. If he was in pain, it was nothing compared to Stu's crushed remains. Even more unsettling was his face- or the lack of damage to it. Bright blue eyes continued to stare at him, as if gazing into his very soul. Fear paralyzed him, but he was terrified of what would happen if he lingered.

**_Keep going._**

He pushed away from the railing, propelling himself over the last few meters separating him from the door.

He didn't dare look back.

The pilots' cabin was silent. The window showed nothing but a bluish aura, traces of the cores' field as they sped at speeds faster than light. The chill touched his bones again as he glanced at the bodies around him. A beanie cap, stained with red, drifted aimlessly through the air.

None of the others had survived.

The room leaped backwards, slamming him into the back of one of the seats. A crack split the air, but his surprised yelp was drowned out by the sound of an electronic voice.

"Drive cores offline. Liquid O2 and N2 stores critical. Maneuvering thrusters damaged. Warning: Current course will lead to collision with [unknown planet] in approximately twenty-two minutes. Course correction advised."

As the stream of curses flowing from his lips slowed, he glanced over the seat once more. Sparks of white dotted the view beyond the window, a bright yellow orb being easily the closest and most visible of the stars. When he saw the dented and bloody control panel in front of the pilots' seats, he promptly resumed from where he'd left off.

"Twenty minutes until collision."

_What the hell do I do?_ His mind blanked as he looked around the room once more. Static buzzed at him from the cracked console at Jim's station. There was no chance of repairing the comm in time, especially with a newly-broken arm. The ship itself was crippled, no more useful than a drifting coffin and just as hospitable for anyone who wanted to continue living.

"Fifteen minutes until collision."

Terror began to take hold as a bright blue ball began to expand across the window. Spots of greenish-brown and white dotted the surface, reminding him of Earth. The continents, however, were all laid out wrong, the shapes much larger and more angular than his native planet.

If he wasn't so afraid of crashing, he would have been in awe.

"Ten minutes until collision."

"ShitshitshitshitSHIT!" His head swiveled around the room like a searchlight, taking in everything in an attempt to find something -_anything_- that could get him out alive. He found nothing. His breaths came short and fast, burning through what precious little air remained in the cabin.

**_Keep going._**

Jim's cap floated by once more, carelessly floating through the air. His eyes locked on the headpiece, its shape kick-starting his beleaguered mind.

_A parachute... If I had something large enough, I could-_ He gasped. _There's a flag in the airlock!_

He pushed off of the chair, hoping to drift cleanly across what little space there was between him and the sealed chamber. To his dismay, gravity decided to poke its ugly head once more. He slowly began to fall, but had enough presence of mind to land on his uninjured arm.

"Entering outer atmosphere. Eight minutes until collision."

Blocking out the pain, he dragged himself through the portal. The cramped room was Spartan; unadorned aside from a group of lockers and a trio of flags. A dark blue one with a ring of twelve yellow stars appeared to have been hastily placed, as did a light blue one with a white overlay of a distorted Earth over a pair of olive branches.

They were far too small.

A larger flag had been placed purposefully behind them, however: stripes of red and white with a blue field clearly visible in a corner were shielded from the chaos by a pane of glass and an excessively ornate frame. Below it, an inscription had been carved into the metal wall: _"One small step for man."_

He smashed the glass.

"Seven minutes until collision."

He yanked open the lockers, quickly finding his own spacesuit and several cables meant to function as tethers to the ship. He fastened them to his suit, then hurriedly began linking their free ends to the flag's corners.

"Six minutes until collision."

Despite his wounds, he hurriedly threw on the gear, not bothering to check if the atmospheric seals were active. _If I can't breathe here, then I'm dead anyway._ Even so, it was a labored process, and it took him longer than he'd have liked to put on his helmet. He walked over to the far door, the bulky suit turning his stride into a waddle. He tapped on the airlock's control panel. A confirmation came up: **Depressurize?**

"Ninety seconds until collision."

He bundled up the flag into his good arm as best he could, then hit the switch.

The door was torn open with a mighty roar. A torrent of wind rushed through the room, angrily drowning out the sound of the collision alarms. The other loose flags came free, doing a lap across the ceiling before flying out the door. He took a step forward, getting a first glimpse of the alien world.

_Oh shit..._

The first direction he looked was down. Verdant green fields blurred together into a sea of foliage. Trees loomed in the distance, dotted across a group of hills. A snowcapped mountain towered upward suddenly, nearly close enough for him to step down onto the peak.

_Oh shit._

He gulped, looking back skyward. The sun was rapidly setting, bathing the sky in peach-colored light. There were a few clouds strung across the horizon, and the wind continued to whip at his EVA suit.

_Oh SHIT!_

He squinted his eyes shut, all too aware of the air rushing around him as he continued to stand at the edge of the doorway. _Everything_ ached: his broken arm, his lacerated leg, his skull...

_OH SHIT!_

He balked, lingering a moment longer on the line between certain death and _statistically almost-certain _death. His breath came in rushed bursts, though the planet's air didn't appear to be killing him yet.

**_Jump, Victim._**

He leaned forward, and gravity took over. His insides felt like they were being left behind as he accelerated. The ground rushed forward to meet him. The flag was yanked from his hand as the wind roared in triumph. He felt himself being tugged as the improvised parachute slowed his descent.

Then a cable snapped.

And another.

And another.

The world began to spin, the flag embracing him in a death spiral as it covered his eyes. He fought with it to extend his limbs, to get it off, to do _anything_ that could slow his descent. After fifteen furious seconds, he managed to uncover his helmet.

Just in time to crash into the branches of a tree.


	8. Steven 1

Steven 1

* * *

**Communications room, ****_SSV Hastings_****, Eden Prime Orbit**  
**22:09 hours, 25 February 2178**  
**5 years, 1 month, 25 days before joint Spectre-STG Operation VIRM-245-NA**

_"This is PFC Nirali Bhatia, requesting immediate medevac for unknown male civilian in patrol zone 36-B. He appears to have been onboard the ship that just crashed near Harrow, jumped with a makeshift parachute and landed in a tree. Multiple lacerations and broken bones, and I'd be shocked if there weren't any internal injuries. He's holding on, but you need to make it fast."_

Silence reigned for a moment as the audio ended. Steven turned to his right, looking at the raven-haired woman whose voice had been recorded. He spoke to her with a voice equal parts honey and sandpaper. "Did you notice anything odd about his appearance? Or anything he carried?"

She appeared to mull the question over before speaking, her tongue hesitant, but lacking doubt. "Yes and no, admiral. He was wearing an antiquated EVA suit, and I recognized his flag from my old history class as that of the old North American States. Aside from the systems to keep the suit working, I didn't see any tech on him. No kinetic barriers or thruster packs, no translator. Not even a civilian omni-tool."

He nodded, quietly mulling over the details –or more correctly, the lack thereof. "That will be all, Bhatia. You're dismissed."

"Sirs." She gave a parting salute before leaving, giving the room's other two occupants a respectable berth on the way to the door. One, a squat man with a shaved head, gave her a courteous nod on the way out. The other, a stern man with a shadow of stubble on his chin, scowled as she left.

As soon as the door had closed, the second man shot a glare at the first. "What the hell were you thinking, bringing him aboard? He just crashed a ship into a colony and tried to escape. We're lucky the thing dropped out of FTL when it did, or half the city could've been demolished."

"I've seen a lot of wounded before, Mikhailovich," the shaved man responded, French accent barely noticeable. "I've even seen a krogan succumb to less of a beating than that kid took. Trust me, he's not a threat to anyone onboard. Besides, there's no real evidence supporting your terrorist theory."

"That's beside the point, _captain_," Mikhailovich responded, growing red in the face. "You brought an unknown aboard an Alliance warship, after he'd nearly parked a ship on top of the largest city on Eden Prime. If it weren't for the name tag, you wouldn't even who he is for Christ's sake!"

"Enough, Boris," Steven cut in, his voice filling the briefing room like a cascade forced into a bucket. "Captain Belliard has him unconscious and under armed guard. He hasn't taken any unnecessary risks."

Mikhailovich's eyes narrowed. "How can you be so sure about that? We don't know how far the batarians are willing to go. The attacks on the Skyllian Verge were bad enough, but if they're using human slaves to do their dirty work-"

Steven interrupted before he could finish. "They would have made sure we knew who was behind it. An archaic flag for a human nation just doesn't fit their M.O."

Belliard cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "We could ask him. His lungs and ribcage are nearly healed; he can tell us how he ended up on that ship if we take him off the sedatives."

"And if he resists?" Mikhailovich asked, lifting a brow.

"My XO will be there. If anyone can handle it, it'd be the only human ever considered for the Spectres. Even though I doubt it would come to that."

It took only a moment for Steven to respond. "Then lead the way, Captain."

"Of course, sir." Belliard paused to fiddle with his omni-tool for a moment, then walked out the room.

The three officers strode through the halls of the vessel, bathed in the Alliance's preferred soft blue lighting. They ignored the salutes of the soldiers and crew they passed by, focused on their objective. They stopped at a door with a gleaming red icon. Orange light momentarily wreathed Belliard's arm as he waved his omni-tool at the hologram. The door slid away, only to be replaced by an imposing man in combat armor. Upon seeing the group, however, the guard stood aside with a crisp salute.

"At ease, Commander Anderson," Belliard said as they entered. "Has the doc mentioned anything new about our guest?"

"Just one thing, Captain," he answered. "The man's nearsighted. Never got his vision corrected."

Mikhailovich scowled. "He jumped out of a shuttle with a flag for a parachute. It shouldn't take a degree to figure out he's not exactly a forward-thinker."

"Not what I meant, Sir." Anderson gestured to a table behind him, where an antiquated pair of eyeglasses lay. "Damnedest thing. The surgery's been free for over a century back on Earth. Last time I saw a pair of those, it was in a museum. They don't even use them as props in movies anymore."

The admiral cocked an eyebrow. "How did they survive the fall?"

"Chakwas found them in a reinforced pocket on his suit. He had another pair on his face when he came in, but they were bent out of shape. Lenses didn't shatter on the other set, but they're cracked beyond repair. Based on the set that survived, he'd probably have trouble seeing details on anything past a meter away."

"No backwater colony would let someone go around with vision that bad," Mikhailovich growled.

"Another thing we'll have to ask him about," Steven added with a pointed look at Anderson. "Wake him up."

If the staff commander had any questions, he kept them to himself. The soldier stepped over to a cot at the other end of the room, as far from the entrance as possible.

That's when the admiral got his first look at the guy.

His body was badly damaged. It was rare to see someone in a cast when you had access to bone weaving technology, but he was in a solid full-body cast. What parts weren't covered told a grisly tale. A thin red line stretched down his left forearm, where Nirali had run out of medigel and resorted to wrapping the wound in a cloth while waiting for backup. The skin on his forehead was stained purple, with more marks where the damaged pair of glasses had been crushed against his face by his helmet.

"I know he's not much to look at, but the man's lucky to be in the shape he is now," Anderson replied as he turned off the sedative drip. "Doc says it's miraculous he got away without any spinal damage, and the injuries can all be healed in a little over a month."

"If we let him stick around that long," Mikhailovich added ominously. Ignoring the look the admiral shot him, the man continued speaking. "You keep your sidearm charged, Commander?"

"That won't be necessary," Steven barked. "I want to hear what he has to say."

The other officers fell silent at Steven's words, the tension between them palpable as they waited. Several minutes later, one of the patient's fingers twitched. Then another. A low moan came from the bandaged man as his eyelids slowly opened. His dark eyes drifted around the room, rolling past the four of them as if they weren't there.

"Where am I?"

_At least he speaks English_, the admiral thought. "You're onboard the Hastings, a human frigate."

What was left of the man's brows knit together in confusion. "Human? What do you-"

"We'll be asking the questions," Boris cut in. "What the hell were you doing on the ship that crashed into that planet six days ago?"

The wounded man blinked. "They. They're really . . . gone?"

"Answer the question, Vic!"

The man winced after trying to frown. "Not . . . my real name."

"I don't give a damn what you want me to call you!" Mikhailovich had gone red in the face. "What I _do_ care about is why you were able to get within a million kilometers of a planet at FTL when every eezo-powered ship has safeguards that are supposed to make that impossible!"

Vic turned his head slightly. His face scrunched in confusion before wincing in pain. "Safeguards?"

Mikhailovich stepped closer, as if ready to strike the bedridden man. "Don't you back sass me you-"

"Boris!" Steven yelled. "Stand down."

Mikhailovich stood there a few more seconds, breathing heavily as he glared at Vic. Then he stalked out of the room, without a word or parting glance.

Steven turned back to Vic, whose battered face seemed to show genuine confusion._ We need a different tactic here, keep him from playing dumb._ The admiral locked eyes with Anderson, inclining his head toward Vic.

"You said 'they' were gone," David replied, understanding the gesture. "Who are 'they', exactly?"

"Seven of us." The man took a deep breath. "The _Atlas _had a crew of seven."

"And what happened to them?" Belliard pressed.

"Systems went haywire . . . after we started . . . second power core." His eyes began to water. "Explosion got them. Almost got me."

The other three traded a look of surprise. "Nobody would design a ship with a second eezo core," the admiral thought aloud. "Overlapping the mass effect fields would have collapsed both-"

Vic erupted into a furious bout of coughing, cutting off the admiral's thought process.

"Sorry . . . hurts to laugh . . . Reminded me of an old video game."

"There are too many of those these days," Anderson responded, continuing to play the good cop as Mikhailovich reentered the room. "Where were you from, by the way?"

"Grew up in Vegas . . . Moved to Philadelphia . . . Drexel University . . . Electrical and mechanical engineering."

"That's an impressive accomplishment. It's a little early for spring break though."

Another cough, though less intense than before. "No, graduated . . . six years ago . . . Working for NASA since. Test flight . . . Experimental tech." He grinned, his bruised and swollen face looking oddly comical. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, a glee in his eyes too great to be a farce. "We went faster than light."

Belliard shook his head in disbelief. The admiral, however, narrowed his eyes as he spoke. "Son, NASA hasn't existed for nearly thirty years. Not since we found the Prothean cache on Mars. It's been the Alliance ever since."

Vic frowned. "That's not funny."

"They almost dissolved it decades before," Belliard confirmed. "Back in the Second American Civil War."

"Shut up."

Mikhailovich rejoined the conversation. "Now see here-"

"My friends-" Vic gulped, instruments beeping as his pulse rose in frequency. "Gone . . . crashed. You . . . expect me to believe . . . this is all part . . . of some game?"

"That is not what we're saying," Belliard responded.

"Bullshit!" Vic barked, as a medical monitor indicated a spike in blood pressure. "Protheans on Mars . . . Second Civil War . . . Mass effect." His eyes turned back to where Boris's voice had come from. "'Eezo.' What next? Alien agent falsified report . . . destroyed a refinery full of people . . . sabotaged first human Spectre?"

Belliard gasped. Anderson's dark skin paled several shades, a feat Steven hadn't thought possible. _That was classified. How does he know about that?_

"Attacking batarian pirates on Torfan . . . in revenge for the Skyllian Blitz?"

"Torfan," Mikhailovich mumbled. "We've been looking for those bastards for months."

Steven was skeptical, however. _What's his source? Was he working for the Shadow Broker?_

"The great Commander Shepard . . . becomes Spectre after . . . Eden Prime attacked . . . by geth?"

_Shepard? Where do I know that name from? _Steven ran a quick search on his omni-tool. A single result came up, an old story from GNN: **Mindoir Victim's Son Enlists**

"And nobody gives a damn . . . about what he says . . . until their homeworlds . . . are overrun by . . . giant mecha-cthulus . . . and tech-zombies?" Vic shook his head once more, though he didn't wince as much as the first time. "Tell me . . . the truth . . . That it's still . . . 2017 . . . and I'm back . . . on Earth."

A pregnant silence followed. The admiral traded glances with the others, seeing the same things in all their eyes.

Fear.

Doubt.

Hesitation.

The Shadow Broker was an infamous information trader, willing to trade the darkest secrets of any government for the right price. But Steven had seen video of the Broker's agents being interrogated before; they always stayed silent, or committed suicide before any information could be pulled out of them.

_Vic's said to much to be a real Broker agent, _Steven realized. _And even he can't predict the future. _The admiral stepped forward. "Belliard, give the man his eyeglasses. The backup pair." He fixed his eyes on Vic's, which turned toward him as he came closer. "I want you to tell me everything you know about that game."

"_Google_ it. Game's called . . . _Mass Effect_."

Steven blinked. His translator hadn't recognized the term, but he recognized it from a history class he'd taken in a Buenos Aires classroom over twenty years ago. "I will. _After_ I hear it from you, Vic."

Vic squinted his eyes, trying to make out the admiral's face. "And just why . . . do you care about . . . what I have to say?"

Belliard returned with the spectacles, momentarily standing between them as he placed the object on Vic's swollen face.

_If he's telling the truth, and he's right about Torfan, then he's valuable to the Alliance. More valuable than any of us could possibly imagine._

"Son," the admiral breathed, "If you're telling the truth, I have a feeling you'll know exactly why the moment you look at me."

As Belliard stepped away, Vic's mouth gaped open. The machine began to beep again as his eyes locked with Steven's.

The door behind him opened, shoes clacking across the deck. The admiral looked up to see a woman with silver-blonde hair rushing toward the bedside. "His pulse just spiked twice in less than two minutes. What in heaven's name are you doing to him?"

Anderson stepped between her and her objective. "Relax, I haven't let them lay a hand on her, doctor-"

"Chakwas."

The admiral turned back to Vic, who was staring at the room's new occupant. The man gulped, then spoke again.

"She's Karin Chakwas, and he-" His eyes settled on the man who'd stopped her. "-Is David Anderson . . . first human considered . . . for Spectrehood."

The admiral cleared his throat, and Vic's gaze turned back to him.

"And who am I?"

"You're Admiral Steven Hackett . . . commander of the Fifth Fleet."

Hackett nodded, then looked up at the other people Vic had named. "Anderson, Chakwas, you need to step outside." The moment they stepped out, Belliard locked the door behind them with a wave of his omni-tool. With a pointed finger and a look, Steven signaled Mikhailovich to bring him a chair. He turned on his own omni-tool as he sat down, activating an audio recording application. He allowed himself to get comfortable, not expecting to leave the seat anytime soon.

He locked eyes with Vic. "We need to know what you know."

* * *

**Author note:**

**Mikhailovich's paranoia in the first half of this chapter does have a basis. Kinetic bombardment of a colony is a genuine danger if a ship is allowed to come close to a planet at FTL. In-canon, a turian separatist group overrides the safeties on a ship's FTL drive and crashes it into a colony called Taetrus at near-light speed in 2185, decimating the colony's capital city. While Vic's ship did slow down to far less than earth-cracking speeds before impact, the fact it was able to get within a million miles of a planet at FTL is a more than reasonable concern. The modern-day equivalent doesn't involve FTL speeds, but was showcased in _Call of Duty: Ghosts_. Here's a youtube video that examines the _CoD_ version: /watch?v=rx5XyspHldk**

**If you want to compare that to the _ME_ version, the speed of light is roughly Mach 881000. The _CoD_ version is at Mach 10. Ouch.**


	9. Sterling 2

Sterling 2

* * *

**Level Seventeen, Haven, Torfan****  
****23:42 hours, 10 April 2178**

_Inhale. An ice-capped mountain range. A rumble as one peak begins to tremble. An explosion of fire and ash. _

Sterling jumped out of cover, his pistol's muzzle lowered as he drew back his left arm. A blue light coursed over his body, gathering as he balled his unarmed hand into a fist. He focused on one of the attackers, an unarmored batarian with an assault rifle who was out in the open.

_Release._

He thrust his shimmering fist forward, punching at the air between him and the batarian. An azure ball flew from his hand and struck the batarian square in the chest. The alien's feet left the ground as if it had been struck by an aircar. His body slammed into a rocky wall two meters behind him with a sickening crunch of bone. The batarian slumped to the ground, motionless.

Sterling panted as he half-ducked and half-fell behind his own rocky outcropping. He flinched as a gunshot pinged off his kinetic barrier, the fraction of the energy that wasn't absorbed by his shields making his shoulder feel as if it had been struck by a professional boxer's jab. He closed his eyes, waiting for the vertigo that came with using his biotic powers to subside.

_Two breaths. No more than two. You lose your focus in battle, and you're dead._

He opened his eyes. Haven, a hidden batarian trade city and pirate sanctuary, was a honeycombed maze of tunnels in a dead asteroid. If it wasn't for the mission, no human would have cared to come there. There was an unspoken truce between the official Batarian Hegemony and the Human Systems Alliance: as long as the humans stayed out of batarian territory in the Skyllian Verge, the pirate attacks would be limited to a raid or two every year.

But that was before Mindoir and Elysium. If not for the devastation on Illyria, the Alliance would have had nothing to do with the rock that was Torfan. Definitely not Admiral Hackett's Fifth Fleet, which was better served protecting the seat of humanity's colonial government, Arcturus. Especially not Major Kyle's 431st Company, which contained one of the largest proportions of individuals gifted with matter-influencing biotic abilities. And most certainly not First Lieutenant Sterling Shepard, whose team was now scattered or dead in the maze of tunnels he'd traversed to get there.

But Hackett had been more than willing to throw his forces into the raid, as if certain his forces would triumph through overwhelming force alone. And the Alliance spared no expense, unleashing one of their most prized ground units on the pirates who'd razed Illyria. And Shepard would spare no mercy for the man who'd brought about his mother's demise.

Even if his own squad couldn't keep up with his pace.

Sterling checked his pistol's battery charge: twelve percent. _Not even enough charge left to last the whole hour._ A pair of shots pinged off his cover, though he resisted the urge to flinch. He took a slow breath, steeling himself as he swapped his pistol for a shotgun.

_A tree bows under the tremendous power of a gale. A large piece of wooden debris crashes into it, splitting the tree in two with a thunderous snap. With a roar, a tornado touches the ground. _

Sterling leapt from cover, arm glowing as he fired toward the batarian who'd shot at him. The batarian's shields flared blue, vanishing in a wash of sparks as Stirling held his left palm out toward his target. A flash of blue light leapt from his palm, yanking the four-eyed alien off his feet and into the air. The human lifted his weapon upward, tracking the batarian as his eyesight slid out of focus, and fired.

In the narrow tunnel, it was impossible to miss. The batarian fell to the ground with a wet thump. Sterling pressed onward, gulping in air to clear his mind. He trained his aim around the next corner. The corridor ended in an armored set of double-doors. He slid to a stop next to the door frame, expecting a holographic interface to pop up as he drew near. He had no such luck.

_Dammit_, he thought, his eyes sweeping across the smooth metal of the door. _No easy way to open it. Looks like I'll have to make an opening. _He scanned the hall behind him, making sure it was clear before he drew a deep breath. He tapped into the power lying dormant in his head, feeling rather than seeing as his body began to glow blue.

_Waves roil tumultuously, crashing against each other in a spray of salty foam. One looms taller than the rest, swelling in height and fury as it approaches the shore._

Sterling opened his eyes, unleashing a blast of blue light against the door. Its surface warped and distorted as the energy hit, its molecules tearing each other apart as they spontaneously gained and ebbed mass. He looked down as his vision began to blur, refusing to shut off his connection to the power flowing through his body. A single drop of blood collected under the tip of his nose.

_Eruption._

The blast he released was nowhere near as strong as the one that had Thrown the first batarian off his feet and into the rocky wall, but it didn't need to be. As the ball of light connected with the already-Warped door, the biotic fields detonated each other in a blast of light and sound. Sterling was knocked off his feet, his armored back hitting the wall with a loud snap. He coughed blood as he rolled onto his hands and knees.

_Too close to the blast. Probably cracked a rib. _He forced the nose of his shotgun toward the hole blasted in the door and tried to blink the world back into focus as his head began to throb. In the gloom of the room beyond, shadows moved, grays within grays.

He fired. Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. He could hear screams, and at least two somethings hit the ground. He pulled the trigger a fifth time, only to hear his shotgun beep furiously in response. _Damn thing's overheated_, Sterling swore silently as he let himself fall prone. He slid back up by the door frame, surprised at the absence of return fire.

_Probably regrouping for a counterattack._

Sterling waited the extra few seconds for his vision to clear. _I got at least two of them, so either they're unshielded or it's close quarters._ He hefted his shotgun and took a breath, steeling himself. With a quick glance, he confirmed there was something he could use as cover not far from the door. He rushed in, gun held high as he moved into the room.

"The bloody shepherd shall rise, a great destroyer hailed as a savior."

Sterling's pulse spiked as he dove behind cover. The voice echoed eerily through the dark room, the hallmark of a turian's crooning speech patterns.

"Blanketed with ignorance, his image a ruse, his flock grows."

He recognized the voice. Even though he'd only heard it once, it had haunted his dreams ever since.

"He acts with purpose, with precision. But it's not enough."

Sterling activated his shotgun's flashlight, sweeping the beam through the cramped room. It appeared to be a data center, with tall databases spread across the space like bookcases in a pre-spaceflight human library.

"He strikes against all he should represent. The weak. The gifted. The strong. The innocent. Even his own kin."

_Movement_. Sterling reacted, pulling the trigger as a shadow twitched within the darkness. Someone cried out in pain. He rushed to the fallen figure, gun pointed in the center of his fallen target. His light, however, showed only a batarian. The turian, on the other hand, continued speaking.

"One by one, those in his flock are lost. By betrayal. By choice. By alienation. By death. By his own bloodied hands."

Sterling continued moving, sweeping the dark aisles between databases with his flashlight. He grit his teeth. Perspiration dripped down his forehead as his target's voice continued to bounce around the room.

"Having led his lambs to slaughter, the shepherd becomes the butcher."

Something rattled.

Sterling spun to face the noise, flaring his biotics once to try and improve his visibility with the ambient glow. He saw nothing, but the source of the sound was coming closer.

"The butcher, having lost his flock of allies, presses on. Ignorant of his impotence, he fights the inevitable."

He saw the source of the rattling: a fist-sized cylindrical object. It rolled out from an aisle he'd just passed by, coming to a stop near his feet.

He gasped, and lunged away.

Sterling wasn't quick enough.

The concussion grenade erupted, a rippling wave of pressure and force knocking him off his feet. His sight went white from the sudden intensity of the light.

_Get up._

He rolled onto his stomach. He propped himself up with his shotgun as he blindly fumbled for a wall with his free hand. His blood ran cold as the voice spoke again, directly into his ear.

"Blinded and confused, he lashes out at the true guardians of life and peace."

_Waves. _He reacted, throwing a biotic Warp at where he thought the speaker was. He received a kick to the stomach for his trouble, and he could feel his shotgun being tugged out of his grasp.

"But they will not be denied. Their will shall be done, as it always has."

He rolled away, just as the bang of a gunshot sounded from next to his head. He launched himself forward, arms wide open in an attempt to tackle his assailant. Armor met armor, and he heard the speaker cough in surprise. He wrapped his arms around the attacker, whose alien bone and muscle bucked unexpectedly as they tumbled to the ground. He blinked, some of his sight returning.

The first things he saw were the electric blue eyes.

"They grant him," the turian coughed, "a single choice."

Sterling pounded the turian in the face. Once. Twice. There was a sickening crack as something, probably its facial mandible, snapped. The turian struck back, one of its talons tearing across his own face.

"Redemption," the turian spat, trying to buck him off, "or damnation."

_Eruption_. Sterling's fist flared blue as he made to punch the turian once more. His target rolled his head to the side, narrowly missing what would certainly have been a killing blow. By the light of his biotics, Sterling was able to get a good look at the turian's face.

_Haliat!_

Elanos Haliat struck Sterling's stomach, momentarily winding him even worse than the biotic attack had. The turian pushed him off, launching onto him in a sudden reversal of position. Another clawed strike opened a gash in the human's shoulder. Sterling latched his hands onto the turian's wrists, pushing with all his might to avoid another attack from the razor-sharp talons.

"I know you, Shepard," Haliat growled as the two struggled against each other. "Your past. Your present. Even your future."

Without warning, Sterling switched from pushing the turian away to pulling his arms downward. He headbutted the alien, stunning him long enough to draw his pistol. Haliat swatted his arm, and the gun spun away into the darkness. Sterling held up his left arm over his face, just in time to deflect another talon-strike.

"I know," the turian said, "because I broke you the moment I executed your sorry excuse for a mother on Mindoir."

_Eruption!_

Sterling thrust his right palm upward as Haliat raised his arm again. The biotic attack connected this time, launching the turian into the air and into the ceiling. Elanos crashed to the ground next to him, making a wet sound upon landing. The human scrambled toward where his pistol had landed, but could hear Haliat begin to stir. Haliat coughed loudly as Sterling's hand bumped into something solid. He grasped onto it, confirming that it was his sidearm. He turned around, flicking on the gun's flashlight.

Haliat was a mess of blue blood, but had managed to sit up against one of the databases. His bright blue eyes were locked on to the human's. His mutilated face was contorted into an expression the N6 soldier didn't recognize. The turian coughed again, louder, and the human hesitated as he realized what Haliat was doing.

He was laughing.

"You're exactly . . . what they said you'd become . . . Shepard." Elanos's mandibles flared open for a moment, one of them hanging at an unnatural angle. "And you won't be . . . satisfied . . . with my death . . . will you?"

Shepard detested everything about the turian, one hand curling back into a fist. Haliat's mocking laughter. His assumptions that he knew Shepard's mindset. The sheer arrogance displayed by the clearly-dying man.

He fired a shot at the turian's knee. Haliat only continued to laugh, ignoring the pain as he stared into Shepard's eyes.

"You'll track them down . . . Everyone who helped me . . . Sheltered me . . . Supplied me . . . Even the innocent . . . if they stand . . . in your way."

"You're wrong." Shepard fixed his gun's sights at the turian's head. "Nobody who helps them is innocent."

Haliat's laughter was silenced by a gunshot.


	10. Ashley 1

Ashley 1

* * *

**Office 2017, Gil Grissom Administrative Wing, Arcturus Station****  
****11:26 hours, 28 April 2178**

"Williams."

Ashley leapt to her feet at the voice. The room had been like countless other waiting rooms back on Sirona. The same soul-blanching lighting. The same jug of tasteless water in one corner. The same muted holoscreen showing reruns of soap operas with shark-jumping plotlines that had become antiquated long before she was born. The same overly-polite receptionist, wearing her perfectly-straight hair loose and legs crossed under a flawlessly-starched dress. The same unmaintained datapads piled on an end table, ignored and displaying newsfeeds that were hot topics several months ago. The same uncomfortable chairs, linked together as if afraid someone would get the audacity to swipe one of the horrid seats. The same air conditioning, tuned to the point that anyone walking in with less than a parka would instantly gain goosebumps. The same endless wait with nothing but the sounds of the woman filing her nails and chewing her gum to accompany her.

She ran through the open door as if her life –no, her sanity– depended on it.

"Service Chief Ashley Williams, reporting as ordered, Sir."

A stern-looking woman stood at the door, eyes scornfully burning at the soldier's undignified entrance. "Take a seat."

The office, in stark contrast, was truly Spartan in nature. Unpainted metal walls glimmered in the low light of the ceiling bulb. There was a table set up in the center, clearly functioning as a desk but lacking even a name tag to distinguish which of the plastic folding chairs was intended for Ashley. She lowered herself into one of the seats. Ashley thought she caught a momentary grimace from the other woman, but it was gone in the blink of an eye.

"I'm Admiral Kim Aiko," the woman spouted as she sat, her voice lacking emotion. "On behalf of the Alliance, I'd like to congratulate you on your successful completion of the Hostile Environment Assault Training course. Your record has been updated to reflect the new certification, and we hope you can carry these lessons with you into the field."

_An admiral?_ Ashley did her best to sit up straight in the chair. _If Dad could see me now, personally being congratulated by an admiral!_ Despite trying to keep a straight face, she could feel a smile creeping in. "Thank you, Ma'am. It's an-"

"These are your orders," Aiko interrupted, passing her an unmarked manila envelope. "Your shuttle departs at 1700. I suggest you study the documents; you won't be taking them with you."

Ashley raised an eyebrow. She couldn't remember the last time she'd _seen_ paper, let alone held a piece of it in her hand. Her breath caught as she got her first glance at its contents.

It came out as a scoff.

"Really, an old photo?" She lifted a monochrome image of a dark-skinned man wearing eyeglasses. "What museum did you guys swipe this from?" Ashley remembered she was in the presence of an admiral, and quickly amended, "Sir."

Aiko was not amused, her drawn lips a line thin enough to slice paper. "That photo was taken three days ago."

"Permission to speak freely?" Ashley shook her head in disbelief after the admiral inclined her head. "Alright, suppose somebody in this day and age actually _wore_ eyeglasses. Why should I care about him? And where's my real assignment?"

"He **is** your assignment."

"Wha-" Ashley's mind stalled as she processed Aiko's curt reply. "Wait, so I'm assassinating him? Some . . .." She waved her hand in the air, searching for a thread of logic. "Some backwater hipster? Or a rich collector who takes himself too seriously? Or-"

"You will be protecting him."

Ashley's train of thought derailed from its rickety bridge of hastily-constructed theories and plunged into an abyss of confusion. There were no survivors.

"What?"

"He's a civilian VIP that the Alliance wants to keep an eye on. You're to integrate with the Second Frontier Division on Eden Prime. You'll be given command of a platoon of soldiers within the 212th Marine Brigade. This will give you enough independence to observe and report on his behavior without drawing suspicion."

The marine's heart skipped a beat, momentarily forgetting about the man from the photo. "A platoon? But platoon commanders are commissioned officers, not NCO's."

Aiko placed a small box on the table. "Consider this a promotion, _Second Lieutenant_."

_Is this a dream?_ Ashley cracked open the box. Inside was a pair of rank pins. Each one was brilliant gold in color, the luster more than making up for their simple rectangular shape. She hesitated before reaching out to touch them. When she felt the cool metal of the bar, she gasped. _This is really happening!_

"For your dress blues," Aiko said, snapping Ashley out of her thoughts. "You'll have patches for your other uniforms available on Eden Prime."

An involuntary wince ran through Ashley's spine as she remembered the assignment. She quickly composed herself, trying to suppress the proud grin that snuck its way onto her face. "How long will this post last? I'd like to transfer to a shipboard posting after this one's taken care of."

Aiko didn't move, but Ashley saw the admiral's eyes shift for a moment, chastising her. "It lasts as long as we say it does, Williams."

Ashley blinked. The smile melted away quicker than if it had been dipped in acid. "I don't think I heard you right."

"You're staying on Eden Prime indefinitely."

"Excuse me?" Ashley said, her voice rising. "I didn't spend the last six months in the H.E.A.T. so I could get stuck in some dead-end officer's job groundside!"

Aiko narrowed her eyes, her tone imperious. "You will do as you're ordered, Williams."

"This is a load of bull, Ma'am." Ashley stood up. "I didn't sign up to have my potential wasted because of my grandfather's decision. I deserve a real post!"

"You'll go there and you'll like it!" Aiko barked back. The admiral took a deep breath and sat back down. "Trust me when I say there are those who would rather you didn't get this posting," she said, her voice level once more. "You'd only be doing them a favor if you were court-marshalled for refusing orders."

Ashley bored into the admiral's eyes with a burning glare, searching for a sign that Aiko was either patronizing her or telling the truth. If there was one though, she didn't see it. She sat back down with a defeated sigh.

"Fine. Who is this guy, anyway?"


End file.
